


Snapshots in Time - A Drarry Drabble Series

by CreateImagineWrite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1357411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreateImagineWrite/pseuds/CreateImagineWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically what the title says, mates, a series of oneshots and drabbles where our favourite Gryffindor and Slytherin are decidedly together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Property of Harry Potter

“MOM!” Charlie’s voice boomed from the main floor of the burrow. “Are you aware that there’s a Malfoy wandering aimlessly around the kitchen?!”

“Oh, I thought I told you last night, dear,” Molly shouted back. “He’s Harry’s!”

“Harry’s?” Fred (or George, one could never really tell the difference) asked from a floor up.

“I resent that!” A calm, aristocratic drawl came from the direction of the kitchen. “Harry belongs to me, not the other way around.”

“Oh, really?” Harry’s chuckle came from the same direction. “Would you care to repeat that, love?”

“Er, good morning, Harry, love,” the aristocratic drawl was a little less calm. “We were just saying… DON’T YOU POINT YOUR WAND AT ME!”

A very unimpressed Draco spent his first breakfast at the Weasley’s with the words “Property of Harry Potter” emblazoned across the back of his robes in Gryffindor red.


	2. Seekers Tend to Find

Draco was absolutely thrilled, as in over-the-mountains, completely out-of-his-mind, thrilled. Nimbus 2001 abandoned on the grass of the Hogwart’s Quidditch pitch, he was practically dancing on the spot, snitch fluttering slightly in his palm.

“I caught the snitch before you! I _actually caught it_!” His grin was beyond huge, his eyes lit up, normally impeccable hair forgotten as he jumped up and down.

Harry grinned back at him, strangely enchanted by the sudden exuberance from a normally reserved person.

Draco suddenly stopped and glared at him. “If you let me catch it on purpose, I’m going to murder you.”

The Savior of the Wizarding World shook his head. “I didn’t do anything. It was all you.”

The grin was back, and the blonde was back to jumping around ecstatically. “I caught it before you! I beat the Boy Who Lived! I’m so happy I could _kiss_ you right now!”

“Oi!” Ron’s voice broke into their conversation, and a hastily muttered Protego stopped Draco from approaching. “None of that!”

Harry crossed his arms across his chest and turned to glare at his best friend. “Ron.”

“What! He was going to molest you!”

“And your point is?”

“Wait… you mean… you want…?”

“Yes.”

“You like…?”

“Yes.”

Ron fainted.

Draco kissed Harry.


	3. Topsy Turvy

Harry was having a perfectly boring morning. His last Auror case had been a simple case of obtaining an arrest warrant and leading a non-struggling criminal to the interrogation cells. No wizards duels, no evil curses, just a straight tag ‘em and bag ‘em case, which meant that the paperwork was literally the most boring the Auror had ever had to write. And Ron was no help. He kept wandering off to get tea, like he was at the moment.

Suddenly, the door to his office banged open. He looked up, intending to berate Ron for taking so long, but the words died in his throat.

Draco Malfoy was standing in his doorway.

“Harry!” the blonde practically giggled, and that was the moment when the Boy who Lived (Again) realized that something was wrong. Draco did not giggle. Ever.

The Potions Master staggered a few steps into the room and would have fallen over if Harry hadn’t stood quickly to catch him.

Draco sagged into his arms, completely limp. He giggled again. “You have a saving people thing,” he sing-songed. “So save me!”

Harry took a look at the wide grey eyes of the pure-blood aristocrat, noting the dilated pupils. The man was either drunk or under some sort of spell. He took a whiff of the air. No alcohol. Well then.

“You know,” Draco giggled, “You’re really pretty.”

Harry stared at him. “I’ll believe you if you say that when you’re not high, or cursed, or whatever you are.”

The door slammed open again.

“Hey Harry, you’ll never guess what Kingsley said… what’s he doing here?” Ron had arrived.

“I think he must have inhaled the fumes of a potion or something, he’s acting a bit weird.”

“Harry!” Draco sing-songed again. “It’s the Weasel!” His voice dropped, though not enough that Ron couldn’t hear. “You know, I never meant what I said about his mother. I’m sure she’s really nice.”

Ron and Harry stared at him.

“Looks like a really powerful Confundus charm to me,” the red-head stated.

“He did tell me I was pretty…”

“You are!” Draco agreed, nodding emphatically.

“Definitely confunded,” the two Aurors said simultaneously.


	4. Misunderstood

Harry blinked uncomprehendingly at the newspaper article being waved under his nose. He had been accosted, quite suddenly, by a massive group of reporters when he Apparated to the doors of the ministry. The journalist holding the newspaper finally stopped waving it around and held it still enough that he could see the picture on the cover.

It was a picture of him, cradled in the arms of the one and only Draco Malfoy, one of the blonde’s arms under his knees and the other around his shoulders. On top of the bridal-style carrying, his photo-self was staring directly into the pure-blood’s eyes, making the entire photograph look like a soppy romance story. Which was obviously what the Witch Weekly had angled it as.

 _Oh Merlin_.

“Mr. Potter! Is it true that you’ve been seeing Malfoy since the war ended?”

_What? Where’d they get that idea?_

“Harry! Is it true that your romance with Ginny was just a rouse to hide your homosexuality?”

_Oh, Ginny. I am so glad we broke up months ago. She’d be having a fit right now._

Another reporter pushed to the front. Harry froze at the sight of curled hair, horn-rimmed glasses and scarlet nail polish, complete with Slytherin green quick quotes quill.

 _Rita Skeeter???_ He looked for an escape.

“Harry, love, always the rebel! Care to tell our readers the juicy details of your gay love story?”

_Kill me now._

“Actually, I’d rather he didn’t,” a cool drawl cut through the babble of questions, and a hand dropped onto Harry’s shoulder.

The Boy Who Lived jumped and turned to see the new intruder. “Malfoy?”

The blonde grinned smugly, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him forwards. A second later, a pair of soft lips were pressed against Harry’s, and then a tongue swept across his lips and begged entry as strong arms encircled his waist. What felt like an eternity later, but was probably only a few seconds, the pureblood pulled away.

“I am tired of reporters accusing me of stealing your heart and turning you gay and forcing you to keep our imaginary relationship a secret when I haven’t done any of those things yet. Care to go to lunch with me?”

“Er,” Harry managed breathlessly. “Yeah. Sure.”

And to think this all happened because he tripped and fell off a stage at a press conference, directly into the arms of a certain blonde prat. Well, if he was going to get kissed like _that_ , he’d deal with the reporters. 


	5. Slip of the Tongue

Ron was having a perfectly normal evening. Or at least as normal as it got in the eight-year tower on a Friday night. Even Hermione had given up studying for exams in the wake of the party that was being thrown in celebration in honor of, as Harry said, “surviving the last year.”

He supposed it was a bit of a feat, given that there hadn’t been enough room in the normal dormitories to welcome a full year of returning N.E.W.T students. Instead, all the “eighth” years had been relocated to the West Tower, which had been redone in neutral colors that had no real house attached to them. Slytherins next to Gryffindors. Ravenclaws with Hufflepuffs. They hadn’t even been allowed to keep their old dorm-mates.

The Headmistress had quite loudly stated that there would be no such barriers to cause rivalry between houses, had assigned rooms, and that had been that. Ron had even heard that next year and every year after that, the tower was going to become the home of every seventh-year class, as one of the many measures being taken against the warfare between rivalling houses in the wake of the war.

It hadn’t been that bad for him. He’d been assigned with Blaise Zabini, and while at first there had been a lot of swearing and name-calling and bad blood, they’d worked it out, mostly based on their mutual love of wizarding chess. The dark-skinned Slytherin was a great deal of a better opponent than Harry had ever been.

Harry hadn’t done nearly as well in terms of a dorm-mate. He’d been placed – quite deliberately, Ron suspected – with Draco Malfoy. The fights between the two of them had made his spats with Blaise look about as violent as a pigmy puff. But even that had died off, though occasionally they still fought epically enough to shake the foundations of the tower. Ron had no idea what had caused the truce, which had happened quite suddenly, he remembered, but it must’ve been some apology that caused it, because he practically had to fight the blonde Slytherin for the rights to being Harry’s best mate these days. Admittedly, he did spend a lot of time with Hermione, so Harry finding other friends wasn’t entirely unexpected, but he had to admit that he was a bit ticked at being partially replaced by _Malfoy_ , of all people.

He was frowning a bit at this thought when he was caught by an elbow in the side and snapped back to attention. A bemused Hermione smiled at him for a second.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Just… stuff. Surviving the last year, that kind of thing.”

She smiled again, and started to answer when he was distracted by the sound of laughter.

Ron glanced around, and found Harry sitting by the fire with a butterbeer in hand, in the middle, it appeared, of telling the story of them escaping Gringotts, right at the point of describing Hermione’s insane and completely brilliant idea to jump onto a blinded dragon.

Malfoy suddenly spoke up from where he was leaning against the wall, smirking. “A dragon, Potter? Only a Gryffindor would do something that ridiculous.”

“Watch it, Malfoy,” Harry grinned at him good-naturedly, “or you won’t be getting any tonight.”

Ron choked on a sip of butterbeer, and the entire common room went suddenly, eerily silent.

The Saviour of the Wizarding World looked like a rat caught in an owl’s shadow. “Did I… did I just say that out loud?”

The silence of the common room was the resounding answer.

Harry swore.

“Good job, Potter,” Draco murmured, moving across the room to sit on the couch next to him. He draped an arm around the Gryffindor’s shoulders, leaving no room for doubt as to the truth behind Harry’s slip.

The Boy Who Lived buried his face in his hands and groaned. “This is all your fault. You and your witty comebacks. Practically automatic now.

“My fault?” The Slytherin looked deeply offended. “How is it my fault that you just outed us.”

Ron had finally regained his voice. “Harry?” he choked out.

His best mate sighed. “Yes, Ron?”

“Please tell me I’m hallucinating.”

“Sorry, mate. It’s true.”

The whole ‘sudden stop to the fights between the two’ suddenly made a lot more sense. “…Right,” he managed. “Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“Any chance I’m hallucinating?”

“None at all,” she smiled, looking far too smug. She’d probably known the whole time and not told him.

“Why is it that all the attractive ones are either taken or gay?” Parvati suddenly complained.

The laughter at that comment broke the awkward silence, and Harry went suddenly red as Seamus leaned over and whispered something probably inappropriate in his ear. Draco shot him a rather possessive glare in answer. “Hands off, Finnagan.”

“What?” the Irishman said defensively. “It’s not like he’s married.”

“Don’t give him any ideas!” Harry moaned, looking like he wanted to cast a Vanishing spell on himself.

The Slytherin looked like he suppressed a grin, putting on a pout instead. “You don’t want to marry me? And to think I’d already picked out the ring…”

Harry punched him, his blush making him look like he’d taken one too many Pepper-Up Potions. “You are most _definitely_ not getting any tonight!”

Ron just buried his face in Hermione’s shoulder and groaned. 


	6. So Oblivious

Harry didn’t really understand why Hermione was being so annoying.

“ – You can’t keep wandering around the school all the time, Harry! I know you think you can just get into the Auror program on name alone – ” He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done this time, but she was certainly ranting about it.

“Well, he could,” Ron pointed out.

“Ronald! Don’t encourage him! Anyways, Harry, and this thing with Malfoy has _got_ to stop!”

“I haven’t been fighting with Malfoy!” Harry objected.

“But you’re still stalking him! You helped clear him of the charges, the least you could do is stop wandering around like you’re expecting to find him casting dark curses or something.”

“He wouldn’t do dark curses!” Harry defended.

Ron and Hermione blinked at him. “That’s… new,” the redhead said slowly. “If you’re not obsessing over him because you think he’s up to something, why are you following him around?”

“I have NOT been following him around!”

“Harry,” Hermione started, voice reasonable. “First, you stopped him from stepping in the Vanishing Step on the third floor. He was on his way to Potions, we were supposed to be in _Herbology_.”

“I got lost, okay!”

“Second,” Ron followed, “You blocked that stupid Zachiaras Smith’s spell from hitting him, and you stopped to tie your shoelace before you went in the room just when Malfoy came in the hall.”

“I’m hardly going to let people curse him behind his back, I’d do that for anyone!”

“You were wearing slip-ons.”

Harry spluttered wordlessly.

“Third,” Hermione’s turn now, “You cast _Wingardium Leviosa_ on him when he slipped walking down to Hogsmeade. You were supposed to meet us in the Three Broomsticks thirty minutes earlier!”

“Professor, er, Sprout detained me?” Harry excused weakly. “And I couldn’t just let him fall!”

“I would’ve let him fall and laughed,” Ron said darkly. Hermione cast him a withering look.

“Fourth,” she continued, “You took the treacle tart over to the Slytherin table because they didn’t have any.”

“He likes treacle tart!” Harry exclaimed defensively.

His two best friends just stared at him.

“Harry,” Ron started slowly, “Are you sure there isn’t something you want to tell us?”

“No!” Harry stood abruptly and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t understand why you two are being so weird!” He pulled his invisibility cloak from his bag and slung it around his shoulders, leaving his head floating midair. “I’m going for a walk,” he muttered, and flipped up the hood as he stomped out of the common room.

Who did they think they were anyways? It’s not like he _meant_ for those things to happen. Except maybe the treacle tart. Drac… Malfoy liked treacle tart, he ate it every night at dinner!

… Okay, maybe that was a bit stalkerish. But he couldn’t help it! He’d spent all of bloody six year legitimately stalking him, there were certain tidbits you just picked up… right?

Harry kicked a suit of armour in the foot mutinously, making it rattle. He couldn’t help it. Malfoy had been all weird this year, not getting into any trouble, no fights, just looking all studious and pale with that stupid silky-looking blonde hair of his and those gorgeous…

He blinked. Wait, where had that thought… SLAM!

Not paying attention, he’d rounded the corner and slammed quite painfully into someone just coming up the staircase. Automatically, his arm shot out and tangle in the front of their robes, dragging them upright before they could topple down the stairs backwards. The person in questions flailed for a second, and then both of their arms wrapped tightly around his neck, schoolbooks tumbling rather forlornly back down the steps.

For a second, they just stood there, breathing hard.

“…Please tell me you’re not Peeves,” Draco gasped, because yes, Harry was just lucky like that. Harry suddenly remembered that he was invisible and moved his arm around a bit within the confines of the cloak so he could get the hood down, leaving his hair a bit more mussed than usual.

“Potter,” the blonde greeted, looking a bit relieved, but not releasing his hold on the Saviour of the Wizarding World’s neck. “I feel like we’ve been doing this a lot lately.”

Harry quite agreed, but was a bit too busy contemplating how close he was to the other man to answer coherently. “Er, yes,” he managed.

“I meant to thank you for the treacle tart,” the pureblood continued, and then furrowed his brow. Harry had a sudden urge to smooth out the wrinkles. What on earth was _wrong_ with him? “And the saving me from slipping, and the vanishing step, and there was something else too, wasn’t there?”

“Smith,” Harry noted, wondering why he seemed to be reduced to one syllable words.

“Ah yes, that wanker as well. Yes, I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

“That’s, er, nice,” he said feeling a bit dazed as the blonde leaned closer. “What are you – ”

Draco – and when had he become _Draco_ , for Merlin’s sake? – kissed him.

“Mmph!” Harry’s eyes went wide, and the blonde pulled away, looking a little flushed.

“Right,” he said. “I’ll just…” The Slytherin pulled his wand out, flicked it in a wordless Accio spell, and his fallen books stacked themselves in a neat pile in his arms. “…go.” He shot Harry a small smile and wandered past him.

As he got to the corner, he turned back, smirking a bit. “See you around, Potter.”

He winked, and then he was gone, leaving the Gryffindor staring slack-jawed at the space he’d just occupied. What on earth had just happened? That had been… sort of nice. His lips tingled in agreement.

He grinned suddenly. What would Ron and Hermione say now! Fighting with Malfoy _indeed_. He was perfectly capable of being a rational human being. He wasn’t keeping any secrets from his best mates! And he certainly didn’t have “something he needed to tell them,” those trait… wait.

Oh. _Oh…._

Then: _Godric, Ron’s going to_ kill _me._


	7. Of Cookies and Chaos

Harry wrenched open the door of Grimmauld Place with difficulty. The house had been decidedly stubborn about letting him in lately, though it let Draco in without a fuss. Hermione suspected it was some sort of bloodline magic, and that his husband’s Black side appeased it, but it wasn’t very pleased with sheltering Potters. Harry also suspected it might have something to do with his recent redecorating, but he didn’t care about the house’s feelings, he was _not_ having a bunch of decapitated house elves in his living room.

He narrowly avoided the rather violent inward slam of the door after him, and shrugged out of his outer robes.

“Draco, I’m home!” He called, and frowned when no one answered. “Draco?”

Kreacher wandered into the front entrance way, wringing his hands and muttering under his breath.

“Where’s Draco?” Harry asked him, allowing the stooped, elderly elf to take his robes.

“Kreacher cannot tell Master, because Master is not to be knowing, and Mistress said it was a secret, and not to tell, but Kreacher wants to tell because Mistress should be letting _Kreacher_ do it, and Mistress will not listen to Kreacher!” The house elf’s rant got higher pitched towards the end, practically a wail.

“He’s not _Mistress_ , Kreacher,” Harry sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you we can both be Master?”

“Kreacher only has one Master!” the house elf insisted stubbornly.

Harry gave up, he’d had this argument Merlin knows how many times in the year since Draco and him had gotten married. “Where is he?”

“Mistress told Kreacher not to tell Master. Mistress says it is a _surprise._ Kreacher does not _like_ surprises.”

The Savior of the Wizarding World frowned. “I’m sure he meant for the surprise to be done before I got home, I’m fairly certain you can tell me now,” he reasoned.

Kreacher shook his head violently. “Mistress said.”

“Fine.” Harry sighed, walking past the elf and deeper into the house. “Draco?”

“Mistress should have had Kreacher do it,” the house elf muttered under his breath, trailing after him. “Mistress is going to injure himself and it’ll be all Kreacher’s fault, and Mistress should not _be_ in the kitchen…”

“The kitchen?” Harry interrupted him, “what on earth is he…” – BOOM! The sound of something exploding interrupted him, and he took off at a sprint. “Draco! Are you al – Merlin! _Agaumenti!”_

Water erupted into the air, raining down on the stove, which was very much on fire. Harry grabbed his husband and pulled him out of the way, registering that Kreacher was using his elf magic to help.

A minute later, they and the kitchen were all very wet, and the stove looked like someone had sent an _Incendio_ at it, leaving it a charred, mangled mess. “Right,” Harry managed, looking at his husband for the first time. Draco was wearing a – very singed – apron, and looked a bit dazed. “What on earth did you do?”

The blonde blinked once, very slowly. “I was… I was just trying to make _cookies_.”

“What on earth did you put in them?”

“I followed the recipe, I swear!”

“Mistress should have let Kreacher do it,” the house elf grouched, drying them all with a snap of his fingers. “Mistress should not be in the kitchen.”

“Why were you making cookies, anyways?” Harry asked, instinctively checking his husband for injuries. Too much Auror training. His husband pushed his hands away, irritated.

“I’m _fine_ , Harry. And it was supposed to be a surprise,” Draco pouted.

“Maybe you should have had Kreacher make them, instead of destroying our kitchen,” Harry noted.

Draco glared at him, and Harry winced.

“It was, er, very surprising,” Harry hurried to rectify his mistake, linking their hands. “I am very, very surprised, and very touched that you would want to make me food. You are lovely and wonderful and it was very very romantic. I am very sad I won’t get to eat them.”

That wrung a smile out of him. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Potter.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?” He leaned in for a kiss, and – unsurprisingly – got it.

A few minutes later, when he had Draco pressed up against the counter and they were both flushed and covered in soot, he pulled away and laid his forehead against his husband’s. “Next time, just buy me something.”


End file.
